


Sith Poetry

by ell



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ell/pseuds/ell
Summary: Not all poetry is written with words and not every dead Jedi stays dead.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Backwards QuiObi Bang





	1. Every good adventure starts with a misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MidnightDelirium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightDelirium/gifts).



> Thank you to Midnight for the beautiful and Sithly art that inspired this fic.
> 
> Thank you to my dearest temve for the encouragement and lightning beta (all errors, awkward wording, and misplaced commas remain my own.
> 
> This is the first chapter of a much longer work that is nearly entirely in my head at the moment. Chapter 3 will contain the actual Sith poetry and the first of many fight scenes. It is gen at the moment, but this may change depending on how wayward the muses are.

Obi-Wan had been studiously avoiding certain parts of the temple grounds for almost six months, strategically choosing times to eat, research, and train that would be statistically least likely to coincide with the habits and patterns of a certain tall and painfully vital Jedi master. Three years. Three years since he’d _died_. Since Obi-Wan had been a knight. A knight with a padawan. A padawan so strong in the Force and at the same time so impatient and undisciplined that it took all Obi-Wan’s time and emotional reserves just to keep him safe from himself. Not that he had much left after Naboo. He was also avoiding Yoda these days. And Mace. And Adi. He didn’t know who else knew. He still didn’t - couldn’t - wouldn’t forgive any of the three of them for not telling him. Not giving him even the hope of a future. Yoda had explained that the hope - if dashed - would have been more dangerous for Obi and Anakin and their continued presence in the light than believing the lie. But there was something else. Something Yoda wasn’t telling him.

Obi-Wan still didn’t understand how any of this could have been possible. He had been there. He had _felt_ it. The abrupt vacuum where there had been a training bond. The keening of the Force around him.

But there it was. And there _he_ was. Looking no older, slipping through the grounds of the temple like the ghost he should have been. And avoiding Obi-Wan as much as Obi-Wan was avoiding him. Their first meeting had been... awkward. Qui-Gon had touched his face. Reached for a braid that was no longer there. Abruptly pulled his hand back. Obi-Wan had felt the old training bond stir for a fraction of a second. Had wanted to pull Qui-Gon to him, feel the solid strength once again. Felt the Force signature. The strangeness of it. He had frozen then, uncertain. Yoda. Yoda had taken all of it in at once and immediately bustled Obi-Wan out of the chamber, promising to explain more later and insisting that Master Jinn needed to urgently be briefed on what the Council was up to these days. So that was where things were and were still. Obi-Wan and not-quite-Qui-Gon locked in a long and intimate dance around each other for months and no explanations until now. Just when things were returning to a sort of normal, of course the summons from Yoda to a private meeting would arrive.

***

Obi-Wan had spent the last ten minutes since his arrival wandering around an obscure corner of the temple garden. His training wouldn’t permit him to arrive anything less than on time (and on time is late, fifteen minutes early is on time, drilled into him since he‘d arrived as a youngling so long ago) to a meeting like this, but there was no way he was going inside to wait, off-balance and flustered. He‘d learned a thing or two from Qui-Gon himself about negotiations. He didn‘t see the tall, still ghostly pale figure of his old master doing the same in the opposite corner of the gardens, nor did he see the tiny nod of approval as Qui-Gon himself, just before walking into Yoda‘s chambers, spotted him lurking, eyes fixed on the door.

Another minute of half-hearted meditation and he followed in Qui-Gon‘s footsteps to see what they had to say to him.

“A mission. A mission you must go on.” Yoda emphasized. “Together.”

“Your padawan, I will train myself, while away you are,” he clarified.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Just like old times, eh Obi-Wan?” He clearly had been briefed and knew what was going on. Of course. 

“Explain the details on the way, Qui-Gon will. Critical, timing is. Tonight, you leave.”

“Of course, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan dutifully intoned. What other answer was there? Good thing it was morning. He’d have time to pack, at least. And explain to Anakin that somehow he was back to being the pawn of the Council, with absolutely no say in anything. Or any idea what was really going on. Just like the old days. He smiled bitterly. 

***

“That sounds like fun, Master! I wish I could go with you, but I understand,” Anakin smiled when Obi-Wan told him over tea in their quarters. “And I’ll have a great time with Master Yoda! The other Padawans will be so jealous. They say that Master Yoda doesn’t care when you go to bed or how much dessert you eat as long as you get your lessons done.”

“Don’t give Master Yoda a hard time, Padawan. You have my reputation to protect, remember that.” Obi-Wan kept the smile to himself when he thought of his own experiences staying with Master Yoda those times that Qui-Gon had to be away. Anakin had no idea how exacting Yoda’s standards of satisfactory progress were. And by the time he returned, Anakin, already a formidable fighter for a boy barely in his teens, would probably be the best aerialist in the Temple. He’d got that much, at least, out of Qui-Gon, that they were headed to the outer rim and would be gone at least three months.

“I’ll be good,” Anakin smiled that smile of his that made you think that he was simultaneously the most innocent and most devious child in the universe. “Besides, Master Jinn thinks you need to get away and focus on something different for a while.” At this revelation, Obi-Wan choked on his tea.

“Master Jinn? Since when have you been discussing my needs with Master Jinn?” he asked, as reasonably as possible.

“We’ve been having lunch together. We talk about mom and Tattooine. I can’t talk about mom with anyone else, they don’t really remember theirs and they don’t understand. He’s been showing me ...ummm… some lightsaber techniques as well.

“Don’t be angry, Master. We just want you to be more like yourself.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose and let the slight pain help him to release some tension to the Force. “It’s all right, Padawan. Who you eat lunch with is your own business. And Master Jinn is one of the best people to talk to when you’re feeling alone or lonely.” He remembered how Qui-Gon had taken an uncertain and untrusting boy and turned him into a knight, proud of himself and aware of both his shortcomings and his strengths.

***

Obi-Wan, packed as economically as always, a simple bag over his shoulder and his robes clean, met Qui-Gon outside the living quarters and was surprised to see a porter droid with several large cases following him. They made their way to the spaceport and found the retrofitted Corellian freighter that would be ferrying them to their destination. They found their quarters. _Shared_ quarters, Obi-Wan noted, and settled in.

Over a simple meal in the ship’s canteen, Obi-Wan watched the familiar, long fingers fold themselves around a steaming mug of tea. Finally, he spoke.

“All right, Master Jinn, now will you tell me what all the secrecy and extra baggage is about?”

“Master Jinn? That sounds so formal,” Qui-Gon said with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Well, I can’t just call you Master. Not anymore.” Obi-Wan stared hard at anywhere but the man in front of him. “And I can’t call you Qui-Gon. That was my old master and,” he groped for the words, “and friend. I don’t know who you are. You don’t even smell like Qui-Gon.” He tried to release the trembling anger and hurt to the Force but the Force refused to accept it.

“If it helps, I was in excruciating agony for much of the time that I was away,” Qui-Gon said with the tiny, rueful smile playing along his lips.

Obi-Wan stared at him. “No. It doesn’t. Pain doesn’t cancel out pain. You taught me that.”

“I thought you might have written, though.”

“Why would I write? You were dead. I watched your body burn.” And my heart went with it, he thought grimly.

“You didn’t get any of my messages?”

“What messages?”

Now it was Qui-Gon’s turn to rub his temples. “You didn’t know? Of course you didn’t. Your grief had to be real. I’m going to kill Mace Windu when we get back. I thought you were avoiding me for entirely different reasons. I was giving you the space you needed. And deserved. I had no idea that you’ve been staring at a ghost for these last months. Oh my dear Padawan.” Qui-Gon reached up and brushed at the side of Obi-Wan’s face where the phantom braid would have rested. Obi-Wan’s shields came crashing down and the moist shimmer at the corners of his eyes magnified and became a torrent. Qui-Gon roughly pulled him up and into an embrace. They clung to each other for long minutes, releasing waves of emotion into the Force. Even as the ship rumbled up and out of the atmosphere of Coruscant, Obi-Wan felt that for the first time in years that he might be headed home again.


	2. The Mission, or, you expect me to do what?

When Obi-Wan came out of the ‘fresher and into his bed chamber, he found his own clothes missing. Laid out on the bed was a set of black training garments, complete with a broken-in pair of boots in his size. On the table next to the bed was a box. He opened it and found a pair of lightsabers. They fit his hands well. He knew what he would find if he powered them on. He flicked one on. Red. Pushing the questions down, he dressed, the garments soft and well made, their construction close enough to Jedi robes that he had no trouble figuring out how to wear them.

When he emerged to the common room, he found Qui-Gon dressed similarly, somehow even taller and more imposing than usual.

“Obi-Wan. You’re looking well. The color suits you.”

“Thank you. What exactly is our mission here that we are dressed like this?”

“We’re going to Korriban Prime.”

“The Sith home world?”

“Not exactly. More like a rogue colony.”

“But why?”

“Master Yoda thinks there is something to the rumors of Sith in this part of the Outer Rim and a known Sith outpost is the best place to start.”

“Why are we dressed as Sith? We’ve been going on the assumption that there are only two, won’t everyone know we’re fakes?”

“Think, Obi-Wan. Does it really make sense that there are only two Sith in all the known universe? Just as there are black Jedi, there are grey Sith. We’re going to find them.”

Over breakfast, they read through the scant pages of intel on their data padds; the silence between them, while not entirely comfortable, was companionable. When their food and separate studying was finished, they discussed the possibilities they might face as they drained the dregs of their tea.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wear these as well.” Qui-Gon slid a small case across the table to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan opened it to find a pair of red-amber contact lenses staring up at him.

“What about you?”

“I won’t be needing them.” Qui-Gon stared at him and deliberately closed his vibrant blue eyes. When he opened them, they were glowing Sith red.

“Now, my Apprentice. Come. It is time for you to brush up on your Jar’Kai.”

Obi-Wan shivered involuntarily. “Yes, my Master.”


End file.
